The Princess was given a room and some baggy pyjamas (they were not pink, much to her disgust) and she got a wrist band and leg band with her name on them, which she could read, so that was kind of cool.
For a while she was pretty distracted, but as the time for her procedure got closer she became more and more teary.
The tears dried up momentarily when John, the orderly, wheeled her bed down to the theatre; great novelty, being wheeled about on a bed! But once at the actual theatre, she began begging me to take her home.
"PLEEEASE MUM, I promise I'll be good!", which just about broke my heart, the poor little love.
The staff allowed me to go into the theatre and I held her (I'm telling her I cuddled her, but really I had to hold her to stop her from pulling the mask away) until she conked out. And then I had to leave her there, a tiny little girl in the middle of all that equipment.
I was fighting a huge lump in my throat and had big hot frightened tears in my eyes, but John the orderly spoke to reassure me and I told him that I have already lost a child, and that I was very scared.
And he told me about his little girl, who died in his arms from leukaemia at just 2 years old.
All the way back to the ward, we talked about our lost children, and how hard it is to fight the fear that somehow, we might lose another. He told me how his friends' daughter, who is the same age as his little girl, has recently become engaged, and he choked up telling me how he will never see his little girl married, or hold his grandchildren.
His kindness and reassurance amazed and touched me deeply, and somehow he must have reached The Princess too, because she drew a picture of him when she got home, which we're posting to the hospital.
My friend, who sat with me when my son died, and held me up many times when I needed it afterwards, kept me from panicking, and her understanding and friendship are worth more to me than I can say.
And another friend looked after my son, and I trust her so completely that I could relax and concentrate all my attention on The Princess, knowing my boy was safe and happy.
I am so blessed to have so many amazing people come into my life when I need them. Some are like lightening flashes, there and gone before you really have time to register the light they've given, while others are with you no matter what.
I am so grateful for all the support, the prayers and good wishes, flowers, phone calls, and the comments left on my blog and on Facebook.
I know for some people, it's a bit hard to understand the fuss I've made. The risk was minimal and the procedure a very ordinary one -- but you see, I've had that one-in-a-million thing happen before, and the fear is always with me now.
But today, we escaped. The Princess is alive and well and sleeping in her own bed. I got to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.
Thankyou friends and family, thankyou nurses, thankyou doctors.
And John, wherever you are, bless you.